At the contact, he stumbled backward. “Sorry. I thought you knew I was behind you.”
They were like a couple of fourteen-year-olds on a first date. Nothing but nerves and emotions hanging out of their suddenly too-small sleeves and collars. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“What I’d really like is a Scotch on the rocks.”
“Sorry.”
He took the robe and went into the bathroom to change, closing the door behind him.
She stared at that door, seeing it as proof of everything that stood between them.
While he was dressing, she went back down to the living room and tossed another log onto the fire.
When she turned back around, he was there. The worn pink terry-cloth robe looked ridiculous on his big, powerful body. The fabric strained across his chest; the hemline hit him at midthigh.
He looked around at the candles. “There’s a huge tree down on Sycamore Street. The power’ll be out for hours.”
“Did you fly all the way here to talk about electricity?” She sat down on the hearth, looking up at him.
“No.”
“I guess you got my letter?”
“Yes.” She could barely hear him, he’d said it so softly.
“Then perhaps we should talk about that.”
The air seemed to seep out of him, leaving him smaller. He sat down beside her. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry for taking the job without talking to you?”
“Let me ask you a question.”
He drew back; infinitesimal though the movement was, she saw it. An instinctive flinching away. “Okay.”
“When you read my letter …” She looked him square in the eyes. “Tell me you weren’t relieved.”
The color faded from his cheeks. She knew he wanted to lie, to say of course, I wasn’t relieved, but instead he said, “You know how long I’ve dreamed of a job like this one. And now, when I finally get my shot, you leave me.”
“Come on, Jack. We aren’t happy. We haven’t been happy in a long time.”
“But I love you.”
It hurt, hearing those words again. “Do you? Then move back home. Let’s try our new start here.”
“You want me to give up my job? Is that what this is about?”
She’d known what his choice would be, but still it wounded her. “Too hard, huh, Jack?”
“I’ve waited years for this job. I’ve dreamed about it.”
“Our whole marriage has been about your dreams, Jack. I followed you from town to town to town for two decades. Two decades. I’ve been the best wife and mother I know how to be, but now I’m … empty. I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t breathe, did you know that? You’re the one who said I need to step up to the plate. Well, this is the plate, Jack. I need time to figure out what my dreams are.” Despite her best intentions, her voice broke.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a ragged sigh. “Jesus Christ, Birdie. You really mean it. I thought you were just trying to get my attention, so I’d move out to Connecticut or Westchester County.” He sagged forward, resting his arms across his knees. Then he looked at her. “People who want time alone get divorced. Is that what you want?”
Her mouth fell open. “I didn’t ask for a divorce.”
“What did you think, Birdie? That we’d split up and stay married? That nothing would change? Fuck. What about the girls? What are we supposed to say to them when they ask why we’re living apart?”
The girls.
Elizabeth made a small, panicked sound. The enormity of what she’d just done settled into place. When she’d asked for a separation, all she’d thought was: I need time. Just that. Now he was asking about what they’d tell their children.
She fought the urge to say, Wait, Jack, let’s talk it through again.
He went upstairs and slammed the door shut behind him. A few moments later, he walked back into the living room. He was wearing his dripping wet clothes and holding an envelope. “Are you up for a little irony?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “I don’t think I am.”
He offered her the envelope. Her fingers were trembling as she took it, opened it. Inside was an official-looking document. The word lease jumped out at her. It was unsigned, but still. “Oh, Jack …”
He barely looked at her. “Read it.”
She closed her eyes briefly, summoning the courage she’d so recently lost. It returned in quarter measure, almost useless to her. She unfolded a color flyer of a beautiful Federal-style house in East Hampton.
“There’s a view of the water from the master bedroom. The realtor is holding it for me. I was going to surprise you for Valentine’s Day. I guess this is your present to me.”
She looked up at him through a blur of tears. She knew he wanted her to take it back, to be his wife again, but she couldn’t do it. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to remain silent. But she knew if she backed down now, she’d be lost. Maybe forever this time.